Inkstains
by Haruyuki
Summary: A collection of oneshots, each written in reflection upon, or else as an offshoot of, the latest manga chapter released in Japan. Will probably include numerous characters and pairings as time goes on. Updated for chapter 410.
1. 409: Inflection

Disclaimer: Characters and original storyline belong to Rumiko Takahashi.

Notes: This fic will be set up as a collection of one-shots, each written a week apart and relating in some way to the newest Inuyasha manga chapter released in Japan. In other words, this is where I'm going to try to do something with reactions/speculations that are inspired on my part by each respective chapter. Note that if you don't keep up with the Japanese manga, you may not want to read any further, for there most certainly will be SPOILERS.

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I have the one-shots for chapter 407 and 408 currently posted as seperate stories: "Pinnacles" and "Accusation", respectively. The first chapter here starts with 409. 

This is a bit AU-ish, mostly just me playing around with an unlikely possibility. I actually don't believe that Reforged!Tenseiga will lose any of its previous capacities - But if it _did_ indeed have to, this is what I'd expect Sesshoumaru's reaction to be...

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_**Inflection **_

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"Forge me a sword, Toutousai." He says. "A sword to rival the Tetsusaiga." 

He wishes for such a thing because he would have vengeance upon an upstart brother, and it cannot be allowed that he be surpassed. Because he is unsure of what else he might desire, and for the moment power will suffice. And so he waits, taut in anticipation, jaded with calm. The swordsmith observes all this, and frowns.

"No." Says Toutousai. "Leave."

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He leaves, though not without volatile protest – a protest that he maintains until it brings him once again into direct conflict with Inuyasha. Ironically, it is his presence that leads the latter to master a new attack. 

Then he meets a human girl with a battered face and a ridiculous smile. By a choice of his own making, Tenseiga begins to flourish.

It is just as the swordsmith had predicted, although he does not know this. Little by little Tenseiga takes its toll on him, seeping into the recesses of his persona and taking root. He is still pride personified, but gradually something more.

He knows that he has changed when one day he relies on the sword of his own choice, and is deeply bothered when it offers him no help. An ensuing fight gives him concrete account of what these changes might entail, suggestions of just how careless he has become.

It cannot be said that he has come full circle, because not even he knows from where it was he had begun.

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"Hand over Tenseiga." Toutousai says. "I will reforge it to be a weapon." 

Briefly he entertains old notions of possessing the stronger of his Father's two swords. A mental survey of his broken armor and battered attire, and he is aware that he would never have to be found in such a state again. Then he looks Toutousai in the eye and realizes what the old demon would say next, that a mutated Tenseiga would be one devoid of the ability to heal. He pictures the human girl once more lying, blank-eyed and broken, on the abandoned forest trail.

It is true that with the sword he _had_ failed, once, and it is precisely that failure that now weights ponderously upon his mind. Yet turning away is ultimately a thing for those who wish to cheapen, not amend. There are certain things that ought never change, because after all he is himself, and next time _will_ be different, he is sure.

What one thing started, it would finish.

"No." He says. "Leave."

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	2. 409B: Reflection

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_Disclaimer_: Refer to Chapter One. 

_Author's Note:_ Since Kikyou and Kohaku occupied a full half of the chapter, they deserved one of these as well. Odd how the titles for these two stories ("Inflection" and "Reflection") turned out to match a bit.

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_**Reflection**_

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Mere months ago, Kohaku had an elder sister. 

She was compassion, was understanding, was the strength he wished to one day attain. She was more important to him than he knew to express, because no matter the circumstances, her presence always spoke overwhelmingly of home.

He attempts to kill her, stabbing her in the back with a chain scythe that, in the end, wounds him even more.

He looks back and feels that no time has passed at all, and yet here he is, captive by debts etched in blood, puppet to a fragment of stone. He travels with a strong-spirited miko who is vengeance personified. In her, he finds an echo of the sister he lost.

Lady Kikyou is kind. Like any one of the former taijiya when she sustains him in battle. Like aneue on the rare occasions when, to the best of her ability, she offers him an outlet for grief. But he knows that she knows that their journey will ultimately be denied the luxury of an optimistic closure. Even as he cherishes her kindness he is still followed by The Face That Will Not Go Away, and others that, although perished, are not quite forgotten, not yet.

Thus, he knows that at the core of their association, Lady Kikyou is to him much, much more than only consolation. In her living death she provides him the very manifestation of purpose, an anchor to the duty strewn entreatingly at his feet. An anchor by which he must abide, lest he become the source of even more suffering.

He thinks this even as the fiery, familiar form soars overhead, a blur of movement and desperation. He thinks this even as Lady Kikyou rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, as placid and as intrinsically sad as the shimmering pool below.

_I'm sorry, aneue._

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Fifty years ago, Kikyou had a younger sister. 

She was innocence, was sympathy, was childish exuberance that brought out the maternal in people otherwise deeply reserved. For a long time she was the only one capable of looking through her sister's impassiveness, accepting and admiring the passionate, sensitive young woman at its core.

Kikyou leaves her to fend for herself when she dies. Later, much, much later, she returns to find that Kaede is now the older sister, and that hostility looms, barely concealed, in wake of admiration. She does not visit her old village again.

It seems that since then time has transposed itself in gallops and reams, and yet here she is, meandering the land in all her unnatural glory, a conglomeration of dirt and clay that bore scars of its fragility. She gains a disillusioned servitor who has all the outward appearance of a boy playing games of war. In him, she finds a shadow of the sister she left behind.

Kohaku is good-hearted, uncertain and cautious, a moth that has been scorched one too many times by flame. The residue of the sanctified and i>living /i> miko within her knows that she ought to take him in tow, and, if unable to heal his scars, then to soothe them at least.

Except that, pragmatically, she knows she must kill him to claim from his ashes a fragment of stone. How different does that make her from Naraku? Not very, she thinks. But she would do it just the same.

Except that, in treating him as anything more than a follower, a means to her end, she has already delved, however tentatively, into a vault of forbidden philosophy. So volatile are the contents that have spilled forth that she finds it impossible to slam the lid shut again. Once bonds born of sympathy have been laid down and allowed to take root, they would have to be severed, later, at the price of pain.

Staring at her own jaded reflection, she rages inwardly.

_I'm sorry, Kohaku._

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	3. 410: Succession

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter One.

A.N.: The first few paragraphs of this refer back to events that came out about a year ago, where Kagura is still guarding Goryoumaru's cell - the supposed "final task" that Naraku has given her. The last paragraphs tie back into the first pages of chapter 410.

I _have_ looked a bit, but there doesn't seem to be any concrete proof in the manga that Byakuya was definitely created/born _after _Kagura's death. So, theoretically it's possible, at least, for them to have briefly met each other as they do here. If I'm mistaken in assuming this then, well, try to take this as a speculative, "what if" kind of piece, all in good fun.

The title of this chapter also conforms to the "-ion" trend set by those of the previous two.

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_**Succession**_

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Stone steps run haphazardly into the nearest doorway, and he wanders down them while thinking none too well of Naraku's tastes in interior décor. Focusing single-mindedly on the sheer boredom derived from his current environment, he is startled by first the sound of an unfurling object from the obscurity ahead, and then the clear, cold call of "Who's there?" 

A red-eyed woman, near the far wall of the room. Framed by spectral incandescence, her silhouette is taut against grotesque fabrications of stone. The fan held open in her right hand looks sharp-edged and slightly foreboding, even if he isn't sure of what exactly she plans to do with it. Perhaps the next time he took it upon himself to explore the castle, he would do well to at least send an illusion in front of him.

With one foot on the bottom step, he halts. "Me."

Her eyes narrow. She does not appreciate the joke in the least.

"Byakuya of the Mirage," he amends, because after all he didn't want trouble, not when he'd only been in existence for less than a week. "I s'ppose you could call me the newest addition to Naraku's clan. If I might ask, what are you doing here?"

"Keh." The fan snaps shut to indicate a man lying, evidently unconscious, behind thick steel bars. "What the hell does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

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"So is this what Naraku has his _bunshin_ do these days." She mutters sharply. "Take walks around this accursed place, and report what they see." 

He wasn't sure if he found her attitude annoying or gratifying.

"Unfortunately, dear lady, he hasn't told me to do anything. Thus far, I've yet to even set foot outside the castle." A sarcastic smile thrown in, for good measure. "I do so wonder what it's like out there."

She stares cautiously. "Hmph. You'll find out soon enough."

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"So is he all he's made out to be? This '_Inuyasha_'." 

"Depends if you are all you're made out to be."

Was that contempt he saw? Well, he was here to learn, after all. "Oh?"

"See for yourself, won't you? Though, I'd sure as hell try not to mess with the older brother."

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"So is this what Naraku has beautiful wind demons do these days." He remarks off-handedly. "Sit in the midst of such extravagant accommodation, and attend to sleeping prisoners." 

She gives him full attention, and he knows that he has struck a chord. Red eyes frown as if gaging him, trying to decide how much to reveal.

"Not all of them." She says after a pause.

"Just those he no longer needs."

He quirks a brow but notes her defiant and oddly seriously tone, and wonders if all the youkai in the castle would prove as interesting as she.

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"It's a bit misunderstood - my brand of magic, that is. Just because it doesn't deal with things that are _real_ doesn't make it any less powerful." 

He muses aloud. Unlike Naraku, he doesn't do it just to hear the sound of his own voice.

"I mean, try and think of an enemy that _wouldn't_ be tempted to run, faced with opponents that it can't even see. Or a person who wouldn't wish for a good, solid illusion spell, when they have something of importance to hide."

"Hmph. Sounds damn useful, I guess."

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The most straightforward conclusion to be made was that she didn't like Naraku. He imagines himself being forced to guard an abandoned castle room for who knew how long, and decides she had a point. 

Nothing in her behavior suggested that she was planning anything out of the ordinary, but he is certain that she is. No matter how treacherous a surface, beneath it there were always things to be felt rather than seen. Life and illusions were quite similar in that respect.

"Have fun." He calls as he turns back into the stone corridors.

"Damn you." He hears her mutter, sounding more resigned than angry.

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A few days later and on another excursion, he rounds a corner and runs almost headlong into Hakudoushi. Silver hair and amethyst eyes flash as they pass in the narrow hallway, calculating and flint-hard. 

"Kagura is a traitor. It would do well to stay away from her."

He listens, not because he held any respect at all towards the brat. But what Hakudoushi knew, Naraku must as well. Conversations tend to lose their potential for amusement, once they are held at the cost of trouble.

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A few more days of boredom and he is sent on his first assignment. _Leaving home for the first time_, he thinks ironically, as he departs from the cliffs on a paper crane. 

He spends weeks wandering the area, since the instructions Naraku imparted were vague at best. Apart from occasional visits from the Saimyoushou, he during this time is completely isolated from latest developments in his creator's grand scheme. And it's perfectly fine by him because, as he'd thought countless times before, it's not like he cares.

He meets two – well, truthfully, one-and-a-half – silver-haired demons, and wonders briefly whether the red-eyed woman is still guarding her cell.

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From a perch atop the wind-swept escarpment, he watches the winged shape approach from above. One blink, and he has committed to memory all that it had witnessed. Two rapid reruns of Moryoumaru's words, and he grasps the fact that she is dead. 

She'd gone through with it, whatever she'd planned, and truthfully he had thought her to be the type that would. He doesn't think that he feels one way or the other about it, because after all she was only someone he'd seen briefly in passing in a listless castle, not someone he had _known_, if he even had the inclination to get to know people.

The suddenness of death ought have no impact upon him, either, for in his mere weeks outside he'd seen plenty of it. Yet something about the event had latched in a most bothersome fashion onto the fringes of his thoughts, and he wonders if it is potential for more somethings to come.

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When he goes to see Naraku minutes later, he wears a mask as convincing and as hollow as any of his illusions. Even as he recounts these latest events he scrutinizes the smirking face of his creator, and for the first time it occurs to him that he does not like whatever game this man was playing. What would the latter do and not do, he wondered, when it was his, Byakuya's, life at question? 

"Who's Kagura?" He asks after a pause, and watches Naraku emerge from reverie to face him, looking for an instant less than calm.

He stares back innocently, knowing that, with all that had become of Hakudoushi, the other could not know of how he'd wandered into a dark dungeon room two months ago. For heightened effect, he adds, just as nonchalantly, "Mouryoumaru mentioned someone by that name."

"Your elder sister." The edges of Naraku's lips curl. "She ignored my instructions, tried to complete her tasks of her own means, and was inevitably killed in the process."

It is second nature for him to glance off, smile, and makes a disinterested remark. But beneath it all he understands, and thinks, still detached, _no, not true. You killed her yourself_.

_And maybe there was good reason. Or some_ _reason, at least. But why _lie_ about it? _

There are many things more he could have told Naraku to serve the latter's advantage. Instead he lets his mind wander, and says nothing at all.

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All things considered, he looks back briefly and thinks that he could call her foolish. Passion, and compassion, are after all hardly to be commended when they lead anyone to get themself killed. 

_He_ knows that it's better to going along with what people think they see in you. Stay on their better side, and they will leave you alone. He supposed, though, that she wouldn't have come across nearly as interesting, had she been to sort to follow this kind of advice.

Hours later, and still he finds himself perusing Mouryoumaru's words. For some reason, they hold for him an irksome and peculiarly lasting ring that is, for once, not a mirage, even if his conscience has become one in itself.

_…betrayed Naraku, and betrayed me. _

Pointless as demise. Tantalizing as wind.

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	4. 411: Stagnation

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Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one. 

Summary: Written originally for the "summer" challenge at lj community iyficchallenge. Set a long, long time after the Feudal Era has been drawn to conclusion. Refers to Chapter 411 ("The Kind Man"), and provides an oddly tragic take on it.

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_**Stagnation**_

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They were surely the oddest group of travelers to have graced Japan's Feudal Era. But for him they had been guidance, much-needed during his days of utmost stubbornness. 

Like the younger days of the year they were vivid and dynamic. But just as the earliest spring snows they were quick to dissipate and leave him standing, still cursedly immutable, upon unforgiving earth that had one by one swallowed them up.

As chinooks and thunderstorms he rages and wanders awhile – a long while. Eventually he settles for stifling, musky existence that erodes exultation and sufferings past day by day, point by point, until the union of infinitely many points forms the beginnings of the most harmless and uninteresting of lines.

He passes the next chapter of his life in comfort but listlessness. Falling back, always, upon the opiate called lethargy. He dyes his hair so that he is by appearance just another middle-aged human male among the many that inhabit the heart of Tokyo. Working a monotonous job by day to return, hours later, to an equally monotonous apartment, he revels in the idle insouciance of hot, dreary nights.

He tells himself that all that holds him now – all that has ever held him for decades past – is merely the necessity of existence.

Except that one day he rounds a corner on the way home from work, and unwittingly glimpses a silver-haired boy walking a fence rail. He ought not know what to think, because it is been so long since he's thought anything.

It is children that stand adamant at another turning of the seasons, wishing sullenly that time could give back what it takes.

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